


Gently, Slowly, Take It Easy

by inkand_paper (Fabuest)



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Gentle Sex, Kissing, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabuest/pseuds/inkand_paper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet keeps waking up to the Prime in his berth. He's okay with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gently, Slowly, Take It Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tf_rare_pair comm challenge on Livejournal. Admittedly, I submitted a prompt for no other reason than to give myself an excuse to write this.

He woke to a warm frame slipping into his berth with him. He turned his helm, optics flickering on. Red, he noticed muzzily. Lots of red. And blue.  
  
"Optimus?"  
  
The young Prime made a quiet sound of acknowledgement as he settled beside Ratchet, shifting in close. His energy field washed over Ratchet, tired and fuzzy and... needy? Needy in a way Ratchet had never felt from him, and he didn't know what to make of it.  
  
Optimus nuzzled under Ratchet's chin, warm ventilations and soft lips brushing over the medic's neck plating when he spoke. "C'n I stay?" the young mech murmured. "'m lonely."  
  
Ratchet suppressed a shiver of entirely inappropriate reaction, forcing welcome and warm comfort into his field in its place. "Young mechs these days," he grumbled, but he didn't protest when Optimus wrapped an arm around his waist. "Yes, you can stay. But don't get used to it."  
  
"Mm," Optimus mumbled. "Thank you."  
  
The Prime drifted into recharge shortly after, ventilations coming soft and even. It took Ratchet a good deal longer to shut his processor back down.  
  
\---  
  
He woke to a light, warm pressure trailing over the glass of his windshield. He grumbled and shifted, but the pressure followed until finally he couldn't ignore it any longer and his processor booted up properly.  
  
A warm field and frame were entangled with his own. What...? It took a few moments before his memory cache reloaded, and then he grunted. Optimus.  
  
His optics came online next and he looked down to see what in the frag had brought him out of recharge this time. Then he rebooted them, and again, but his visual feed remained the same. The light pressure he had felt was Optimus' lips, feathering soft kisses over the window of his alt mode.  
  
"What in the name of the All Spark?" he said, sitting up and _away_ fast enough to make his gyros spin.  
  
Optimus blinked up at him, and those fragging _lips_ of his curled up in a quiet smile. "Good morning."  
  
"Good morning to you too, and just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Helping you out of recharge," Optimus said, his smile turning sweet.  
  
"Well, I'm out of recharge now," Ratchet snapped. His circuits were also more than just a little warm after that particular wake-up call, and he didn't appreciate it after all the effort he'd put into _not_ heating up last night when the Prime had crawled into his berth.  
  
Optimus pushed himself up to his knees, smile never faltering. "I can see that," he said.  
  
"Glad your optics are functioning. Now go on, get outta here." He jerked his chin toward the door in clear dismissal, but Optimus didn't move. Instead, he reached out to cup his palm around Ratchet's helm, blunt fingers stroking lightly.  
  
"Ratchet." That infuriating smile finally fell away, and guileless blue optics met his own, bright and imploring. "Can I..." Optimus didn't finish the sentence with words; he just leaned forward and brushed his lips across Ratchet's, the movement just as much a question as if he'd actually asked.  
  
Ratchet grunted, surprised and wary. "Now why on Cybertron would you want to do that?"  
  
Bumblebee had gone through a phase when Sari had introduced him to the concept of a human activity called "dares". If Optimus was playing that game--but no, the Prime wasn't that type. Ratchet just couldn't imagine that _he_ was the Prime's type.  
  
The smile returned, shy this time. "I like you," Optimus admitted. "And... you care about us. I like that."  
  
"You would," Ratchet grumbled. The bloom of warmth in his spark at the admission didn't mean anything, he told himself. He was just fond of the Prime, that was all; he was fond of all the young mechs on the team, much as he tried to hide it, and it was kinda nice to have that recognised. "Fine, go ahead."  
  
Optimus made a pleased sound and leaned forward again. The touch of his lips this time was more firm, molding gently to Ratchet's own, and blue hands came up to guide him back down to the berth. Once he had him there, though, the Prime seemed content to take his time. Ratchet's mouth opened beneath slowly moving lips, a sigh escaping him; Optimus caught his lower lip between his own and suckled it gently with a low hum of pleasure.  
  
It took a few kliks, but eventually Ratchet relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy the feel of the Prime exploring him with soft lips, slow swipes of his glossa, fingers tracing over plating and skirting teasingly around sensitive seams. Optimus didn't seem to expect anything in return; the hand Ratchet laid on a broad red shoulder to ground himself earned a pleased curl of his energy field, but there was nothing demanding in it.  
  
It was several breem--almost a full cycle--before Optimus' hand strayed anywhere near Ratchet's crotch. His fans had long since kicked in, dumping heat from his chassis and cycling cool air into his ventilation system in an attempt to keep his temperature regulated, and when it seemed Optimus' exploring fingers were going to carry right on past his interface array to find and outline the seams of his thighs, Ratchet shuddered.  
  
"Please," he gasped, almost embarrassed to have been brought to the point of begging by a mech so much younger than him. He couldn't remember ever having a mech as _patient_ as Optimus in the berth. The Prime's plating was warmer than it had been, and his energy field washed traces of warm, quiet arousal over Ratchet, but he seemed no closer to overload than when he'd started, and was evidently in no hurry to reach that point.  
  
"Cable?" Optimus asked, obligingly palming Ratchet's heated interface panels.  
  
"Cable," Ratchet panted. "Yes."  
  
Optimus turned his attention to the upper panel, still kissing and nibbling Ratchet's lips. He alternated between kneading the heated metal that hid Ratchet's cable with his palm and nimbly stroking over the seams where the panel would retract, and it wasn't long before Ratchet was uncovered and fully pressurised, cable straining into Optimus' hand.  
  
"Slaggin' tease," Ratchet muttered when the Prime's thumb swiped over the tip of his cable, priming the thin input rods so that they threw off sparks of charge without a connection.  
  
"Sorry," Optimus murmured, before breaking away and moving to straddle Ratchet's hips. Ratchet gasped at the loss of warm sensation, raising a hand to wipe the mess of oral lubricants from his lips, but the click and slide of Optimus' panel opening to reveal his thoroughly slick port was worth it.  
  
Until Optimus lowered himself, not onto Ratchet's cable, but just a little further back. The hot port, so close to the base of Ratchet's cable, dripping lubricant onto his exposed interface array, and the warm pressure of plating lightly tingling with charge as Optimus leaned forward to continue the careful feathering of kisses he'd woken Ratchet with, were _maddening_.  
  
"You're trying to kill me," he rasped. "One servo in the scrap heap not enough for you?"  
  
Optimus chuckled, lips still pressed to Ratchet's plating, and Ratchet moaned as the vibrations travelled straight through to his spark.  
  
"No, I think I like you alive," the Prime said, finally looking up. His usually bright optics had darkened to a sensual cobalt. "I like you like _this_." His helm ducked back down, and then he was trailing kisses over Ratchet's chassis again, covering every inch.  
  
Finally, _finally_ , just when Ratchet was sure he couldn't take anymore, Optimus lifted himself again. His hand found Ratchet's cable and gave it a few firm strokes, as if apologising for neglecting it so long, then guided the tip of it to the wetly glistening opening of his port.  
  
Ratchet's optics shuttered when the tip of his cable was enveloped in Optimus' tight, slick heat. His hands scrabbled for the Prime's slim hips, trying to pull him down further onto him, but Optimus captured his wrists and pinned them to the berth above his helm. He was smiling again, that _fragger_.  
  
"Slowly," Optimus said, rocking his hips to take in a fraction more of Ratchet's cable. His optics, still dark, glittered with mischief, and Ratchet snarled.  
  
"Frag _slowly_. Never would've taken you for a sadist."  
  
The Prime sat back, his port sliding further down Ratchet's cable with the movement, and his face twisted with genuine concern as Ratchet hissed. "Have I hurt you?" he asked, entirely too sincere.  
  
Ratchet bucked his hips, trying to sink himself deeper into Optimus' incredible heat, but the slagger moved with him, still frowning.  
  
"No," he ground out. " _You_ are an entirely different sort of sadist. Would you move, before I short circuit!"  
  
"Ah," Optimus said, with sudden understanding. And then, "Okay."  
  
He didn't actually move any faster, but his hips rolled, taking Ratchet a little deeper every time he sank back down. A moan tore from Ratchet's vocaliser with every movement, and his optics whited out with bliss as his cable was slowly encased in Optimus' port, tight and hot and slick, with sensor nodes lighting up to exchange charge in a perfect, spiralling rhythm.  
  
When he was fully seated, blue hip plating flush against red, the port closed in even tighter around him, and he could feel the deepest parts of it reconfiguring to match his length and the pattern of his input rods. There was a snap of charge as his cable finally clicked into place, and Ratchet shouted hoarsely as overload hit him.  
  
\---  
  
He woke to a hot mouth molesting his chevron, glossa laving the sensor-laden surface while lips gently suckled. His cable was still sheathed in Optimus' port, and the Prime seemed hardly to have moved while Ratchet was offline.  
  
He checked his chronometer. Out for four breems, and Optimus had waited patiently for him to boot back up. If the charge lacing the younger mech's field was any indication, he hadn't overloaded yet.  
  
Ratchet groaned, and Optimus noticed that he was awake again. He released the chevron and sat back with a satisfied smile, engine purring. "Better?"  
  
"You--" Ratchet growled. He wasn't sure what else he meant to say, if anything, and it didn't matter anyway because Optimus' mouth descended on his again, effectively silencing him. The kiss was just as slow and sweet and protracted as all the rest, and Ratchet felt himself relaxing again as their glossae tangled languidly.  
  
He lost track of time as Optimus rocked on his cable, minute movements that left Ratchet gasping. Sometimes Optimus' hips lifted, just barely, and then slid back down; sometimes they circled, a lazy rolling twist that made him jerk in pleasured reaction. The sensor nodes in Optimus' port never stopped firing pinpricks of charge between them, and all the while Optimus never let up on his gentle assault of Ratchet's mouth.  
  
It was sometime after the third overload Optimus had coaxed out of him that Bumblebee barged in--he never had caught on to the concept of knocking.  
  
"Hey Docbot, have you seen--oh." The minibot's optics widened as he took in the sight of Optimus seated on Ratchet's cable while Ratchet writhed under him, wrists still pinned by his helm, their interface arrays a mess of lubricant and conducting fluid, Ratchet's fans a dull roar and vents heaving out hot air.  
  
"You know what, never mind," Bumblebee said, backpedalling out the door. "I never saw this."  
  
Optimus laughed quietly, his optics sparkling as Bulkhead's large frame appeared behind Bumblebee in the doorway.  
  
"What's wrong, little buddy? Did you find Optimus?"  
  
A green helm poked in, and Bulkhead's jaw dropped. "Oh. Um, hi, Optimus. Prowl was looking for you..."  
  
"We're busy!" Ratchet snapped.  
  
"We can see that!" Bumblebee piped up from outside. "And we really, really did not _want_ to see that."  
  
Bulkhead hesitated, then seemed to gather his courage, very carefully turning his optics away from Optimus' still rolling hips. "Are you, um... are you going to be much longer?"  
  
Ratchet looked to Optimus, who grinned down at him. "Yes," the Prime said. "We're going to be very busy for at least another groon."  
  
"Oh, you had to ask," Bumblebee sniped.  
  
"Next time you might try knocking," Ratchet shot back.  
  
Bulkhead backed out of the room, closing the door as he left, and Ratchet glared up at Optimus. "I take it we're late for our shifts."  
  
"Very late, yes." Optimus lifted his hips to halfway up Ratchet's cable, then thrust himself back down. His lips formed a soft 'o' and he groaned, squeezing Ratchet's wrists, then turned a beguiling smile on him. "Is that going to be a problem?"  
  
Ratchet's vocaliser spat static and a high whine of feedback, and his entire frame arched, driving his cable as deep into the Prime's port as it would go. "Not--not a problem. Definitely not."  
  
"Mm. Good." This time when Optimus' helm dipped toward him, Ratchet parted his lips in anticipation, but the Prime had a different target in mind. His glossa lapped at the delicate plating of Ratchet's neck, and then his lips sought out a cluster of temperature sensors where a coolant line ran close to the surface, closed around it, and _sucked_.  
  
Ratchet thrashed, Optimus' name spilling from his lips like a mantra, and when Optimus lifted his hips and circled them in that rolling twist as he came back down, Ratchet overloaded.  
  
Large hands came down to cradle his helm, and this time when Optimus kissed him it was fierce and wanting. Ratchet responded eagerly, moaning as the Prime finally set a steady rhythm, sliding up and down his cable at a slow but determined pace.  
  
It took an embarrassingly long time for him to realise that his hands were free; when he did, he reached for the Prime, fervently exploring red and blue and silver plating, extending his field through his fingers to stroke Optimus' internals with the sensation of heavy charge. Optimus was chasing his own overload now, and after everything he'd given Ratchet since waking up, there was no way in the Pit he was going to let it happen without helping it along.  
  
It still took an impressively long time for the charge to build up to a point high enough for Optimus to lose his co-ordination as he neared his release. Ratchet took over, holding Optimus' hips steady and thrusting up into him, grateful for the earlier overloads that made it easier for him to last now.  
  
"Come on, that's it," he encouraged. "Beautiful. Let me see you overload, you're almost there."  
  
Optimus' optics offlined, a hard shudder making its way up his backstrut, and he ground down hard onto Ratchet one final time, plugging his port connectors into Ratchet's cable.  
  
"Ratch--ahh, Ratchet!"  
  
Overload burst over him, flooding the connection between them with pulses of charge so heady they were blinding. Ratchet swore; his helm slammed back against the berth; his hands spasmed, leaving dents in Optimus' hips as a fifth overload ripped through him.  
  
\---  
  
He woke to the warm, heavy weight of a frame resting on top of him. His cable, depressurised and rather tender, was still seated in Optimus' port, though that had loosened around him as Optimus recharged. Warm ventilations fluttered over his plating in a soft caress.  
  
He sighed, lying still under the Prime and enjoying the sated glow suffusing his circuits. He wouldn't mind doing that again. Later. Not for at least another orn, he thought, hands coming ruefully to rest on the dented plating of Optimus' hips. He was really too old for this slag.


End file.
